


May Luck Be Your Keeper

by Razzaroo



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Gen, Niall Lynch's poor parenting decisions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-14 00:02:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10524702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Razzaroo/pseuds/Razzaroo
Summary: Niall Lynch is not a creature made for gentleness





	

Niall’s never been very good with babies. Toddlers, he can just handle. Anyone over the age of five, he can charm as he’d charm anyone else. But babies? They’re too small and new; the only new things Niall handles are what he pulls from his dreams, things which are not so soft and easily broken in his big, rough hands. He’s not a creature made for gentleness.

Aurora, on the other hand, is the gentlest person Niall has ever known.

“He’s quieter than I thought he would be,” he says as she paces their living room, Declan bundled in her arms, “I thought babies were meant to be loud.”

“He’s a very good baby,” she replies, “How long will you be home?”

“Can’t say. At least three months.”

Aurora’s lips press but it’s an expression that doesn’t last long. She looks to check the clock and shifts her hold on Declan.

“I have to go and get the cows in,” she says and shakes her head before he can even offer to do it instead, “No, I’ll go. I’ve missed my talks with my girls.”

She presses Declan into his arms, completely trusting him with this small, tiny thing she’d made and held so close. He fumbles slightly and Declan ends up pressed to his chest with far less grace than the wee thing was used to.

“You’ll learn,” she says, “Best to now, while he’s not too complicated.”

She pulls on her boots and heads out into the fields. Niall looks down at Declan, in all his defencelessness, and he feels truly nervous for the first time in a long while. Perhaps the first time since he’d left the United Kingdom and all its baggage and strife behind him.

“You’re named after my grandfathers,” he says, “Big strong blokes, they were. Lucky as anything; nothing could touch ‘em.” He rocks back on his heels, unsure of what to do with the rest of his body, “If you end up anything like your daddy, you’ll need all their luck and more.” He smiles.

“Good thing you’re Irish."

 

* * *

 

“Does Mom know you’re a liar?”

“Yes.”

Declan, nine years old and already starting to look too serious, nods. He looks out of place in the sparse hotel room, a little piece of home Niall’s brought with him. He sits on the bed, surrounded by Niall’s dreamed up items; he doesn’t know what or who they’re for but Niall’s told him the truth of where they came from, that this is where he makes his money.

“You lie ‘bout this to her?”

“Yes.” Niall slips the hotel room key into his coat pocket and gathers up the dream things one by one, putting them neatly into the case he kept with him for work.

“Why?”

Niall stops, hand on the door handle. He looks over his shoulder at Declan, who has moved to sit on the edge of the bed, as if ready to slide off and follow him out the door. He sets the case down and returns to his son’s side, brushing his hand through Declan’s dark hair.

“It’s complicated,” he says, “You’re young; you’ll learn.”

He pulls Declan close and holds on to him, same as he had when the boy had been a toddler and more easily frightened by all things. Declan’s never fit in his arms the same way Ronan had, as if they weren’t made for each other the same way.

“Now stay here,” he says, “Stay up late or go to sleep. Just don’t open the door to anyone. Don’t open the curtains or the windows. Don’t answer the phone. Wait for me to get back.”

He locks Declan in and doesn’t stop to see the room’s lights go off, doesn’t look back to see Declan watching him from the window. He knows he’s being watched a lot more dangerous than Declan could dream of.

If he lasts the night unscathed, he’ll take Declan with him tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

Aurora’s angry at him. Niall could pick it up from a mile away. She doesn’t get angry the same way Niall and his sons, with raised voices and rough hands. No, her anger is something that stews, something that builds and eventually bubbles over, turning everything to venom in a mouth usually so sweet. If Matthew were ever angry, Niall guesses his would be much the same.

“What have I done?” he asks because he knows her anger is because of him. She’s never this angry at her sons.

She stops, setting her hairbrush down very slowly and deliberately, before she turns to him. Her eyes are dark.

“He’s twelve, Niall,” she says, “Twelve. And you take him off God knows where, to do God knows what. _What_ are you thinking?”

Niall reaches for her, “I keep him safe, Aurora.”

She pulls back and there’s a flare of anger there, something that shows it’s not all Niall in Ronan’s temper, in Declan’s, “Keep him safe? You can’t even keep yourself safe!”

He wants to say that’s uncalled for, that the fact that both of them are still standing is evidence that he keeps himself safe enough. And then he remembers all the times Aurora’s patched him up, cleaned his split lips and bloodied knuckles, all the patience she’s had with him.

“You were doing this before I came along,” Aurora says and she sounds tired, “And I haven’t told you what to do with those abilities of yours, only that you don’t _bring_ it home. That is not an invitation to _take our son into it.”_

Niall doesn’t say anything. There isn’t a word he could say that she couldn’t combat. He takes Declan because he needs him? Easy to counter by saying he didn’t need Declan for years, to ask why he suddenly needs him now. He’ll have to handle it one day, with Ronan? It would help matters more if Niall told Ronan about it before Declan, surely.

He says nothing and Aurora, knowing she’s won, leaves him alone in their bedroom so she can go and put Matthew to bed. Niall sits on the edge of their bed, his hands curling tight around the bedspread, angry at himself more than he ever could be at Aurora. She never lied.

The next time he leaves, Declan stays at home.

 

* * *

 

It’s nearing midnight and Niall sits in his car, waiting for Declan. He’d promised Aurora, he’d bring their eldest home safe, knowing full well how sixteen year olds behave when their parents aren’t around.

Eventually, Declan makes it out of the door and Niall’s lips press when he sees his son stagger, sees the man who watches him from the door. He gets out of the car, slamming the door, and meets Declan halfway, sending a clear message to the watcher to back off and stay off.

Declan slumps into the passenger seat and Niall glares over his shoulder, making sure the door to the house shuts before he returns to the driver’s seat. His head lolls and Niall can smell the liquor on him, something he’d grown used to lurking in the pubs of the United Kingdom.

“Declan?” he says, squeezing his son’s wrist, “You all right, boy?”

Instead of answering, Declan pulls his arm free and reaches into his chest pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper and holding it out to his father. Niall takes it and Declan’s smile is thin.

“Got what you were after,” he says and his tone is bitter. If Niall is meant to approve, he’s not sure.

“How?” Niall asks, though he takes the paper and tucks it into his own pocket. He spies a bruise already forming around Declan’s wrist, under the cuff of his sleeve, “What is this?”

Declan shrugs, “Nothing.”

“It _isn’t_ fine, Declan.” Niall grasps his son’s jaw, turning Declan’s face to look at him, “What did you drink?”

“Does it matter?” Declan jerks his head, pulls free, “I got drunk before. I’ve been drunk with _you_ before.”

“It matters. I know what happens when kids like you get too cocky.” Niall starts the car and doesn’t think about the paper Declan gave him. He’s not interested in arguing with Declan, not when Declan reeks of alcohol the way he does, “And the only reason it hasn’t happened to you is because you got lucky.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Declan? Come here.”

Declan turns, stands, because he’s good at doing what his father says, much unlike Ronan and Matthew. He’s the image of Niall, with any Aurora in him pressed out by his father’s careful hands. Aurora is for dreams and dreamers; Declan needs none of that. He needs all of Niall’s more practical side.

He opens his desk drawer and pulls out his father’s revolver, brought with him when he’d bolted from England. He loads it, sets the safety and holds it out.

“Keep that close,” he says when Declan takes it from him.

“You’re not taking me with you?” Declan says, holding the revolver gingerly, as if he fears it will bite him. Niall shakes his head.

“No. I need you here. I’ve seen signs of someone creeping around the place. You need to keep your mam safe.”

A heavy feeling in the pit of his belly tells Niall that this night won’t end well for him but he ignores it. Declan looks unsettled and Niall wants to reassure him, though that’s never been something he’s done, and he wonders sometimes if that lead to Declan’s jumping hands, his mind that checks and rechecks.

“Don’t let Ronan give you any trouble,” he says instead, “I’ll be back by the morning.”

He squeezes Declan’s shoulder and leaves, picking his car keys up off the kitchen counter. He pauses by the front door, stops to touch the cross they keep hanging by the door, cool beneath his fingers. He trusts Declan to do as he says but he’s still too young and too green and Greenmantle is a nasty piece of work who keeps even nastier ones on his payroll.

May luck keep them both.


End file.
